


Behind Closed Doors

by MyChemicalRachel



Category: Motionless in White (Band), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Consent is Sexy, Horrible smut, I Tried, I'm so sorry I suck at smut, LITERALLY, M/M, Smut, like really freaking smutty, they're in a closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyChemicalRachel/pseuds/MyChemicalRachel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Iero and Chris Motionless get locked in a closet together.<br/>Horribly written smut.<br/>Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Doors

"What about this one?" I turn the laptop to face Gerard. He studies the gray and blue suit that spreads across the screen, blown to full page view so he can see the small details. From his place on the center of my bed, strewn out and looking bored out of his mind, he quirks a single eyebrow.

"Seriously, Frank," He groans, rolling onto his back and rolling his hazel eyes at my ceiling. "All of these look like shitty Halloween costumes."

I try not to act offended, but after a failed attempt at putting together my own outfit for Comic-Con, this was my only option left. "That's because they are shitty Halloween costumes," I grumble. After scrolling through only a few more of the various Batman outfits, I sigh, tossing the laptop onto the mattress next to me and falling next to Gerard. I run both hands over my face, my eyes seeming slightly out of focus from the continuous staring at the screen. "Comic-Con is in two weeks," I say, my voice muffled through my hands. "What the hell am I going to do? There is no way I'm getting a decent costume in time."

The bed shifts as my best friend sits up. I open my eyes, peering at him through squinted lids. Gerard looks down at me, a grin forming on his pink lips as black hair falls into his face. "I'll make you a costume."

The friendly offer seems genuine enough, but the devious glint in his dark eyes makes me only narrow my own further. I sit up slowly. "Why would you do that?" I wonder. "You've been bitching for the past week about how your hands already have enough holes." Just last weekend, after countless hours and curse words, Gerard had finished making his own Joker costume. While Gerard was the most artistic person I'd ever met, he is shit with a needle and thread. He tended to poke more hols through his skin rather than the actual fabric, and God knew how much he hated needles.

Gerard simply shrugs, aiming for and just only missing nonchalance. After a moment, he sighs, rolling his eyes once more. "Bert asked me to a party tonight," He admits. "And if I have to sit here with you staring at shitty Halloween costumes all night, I will not be pleased."

"Then go," I wave a hand toward the closed bedroom door, gesturing for him to abandon me in my time of need. "I don't mind looking alone."

Gerard groans, taking the laptop from my hands as I pick it up again. "I'm not going without you, Frankie," He argues. "So you have two options; To come be social with me for one night and I will make you the most badass Batman costume you've ever laid eyes on.  _Or_..." He tilts his head to one side, challenging me with his words. "You can stay at home, I can crash here, and you can listen to be bitch about how I could have been laid by the most attractive man at our school." He smirks. " _And_  you get stuck with a shitty costume."

Even for me-- a socially awkward hermit-- the choice is painfully obvious. So, a few half-hearted protests and a change of clothes later, I'm climbing into Gerard's car and pulling out of the driveway.

The party is already in full swing when we arrive, forced to park nearly two blocks away. Not exactly ideal if the cops show up, but Gerard doesn't seem to mind the walk and neither do I, though the cool fall breeze makes me shiver and demand Gerard give me his jacket. As the night sky looms overhead, a few stars dotting the otherwise black air, the smell of alcohol hangs heavy around us. A few plastic cups litter the lawn, along with a roll of toilet paper that decorates part of the tree before being abandoned on the grass. A couple stragglers wander outside the house, talking-- or rather, slurring-- where the noise is quieter. The music, pumping bass through the walls, can be heard even from the sidewalk, only reaching louder volume when Gerard leads me through the front door.

Inside, bodies press together in a wave of stench-- hormones, alcohol, and sweat all lingering in the air. I instantly cling to Gerard's arm, suddenly terrified and wishing I had not agreed to come. "I see Bert," He says, leaning close. Though his voice is nearly screamed, it still sounds like a whisper. "I'm gonna get a drink. You want one?"

I shake my head, grimacing, and reluctantly let go of my best friend's arm. I try to focus on the fact that he's going to make me my Batman costume; This will all be worth it. I can survive a few hours at a house party.

I turn to see if I can find anyone else I might know here, only to run directly into someone. "Sorry!" I instantly apologize, though I'm not sure I can be heard. I look up to meet the amused gaze of a familiar pair of green eyes. Behind the smirk, I recognize Zacky Baker.

Tall, tattooed, entity of sexiness,  _Zacky  Baker._

And  _fuck_ , I wish it would have been anyone else.

Zacky grins down at me, leaning a little closer. "What?" He motions to his ear.

Shit. I lean in toward him. "I said, sorry!" I repeat. Forcing a smile, I try to sidestep him, but Zacky won't allow it. He grabs my hand instead and I'm reluctantly pulled through the house, into a far corner of the kitchen. The music is quieter here, the stereo being a few rooms away, and Zacky smiles.

"Don't worry about it," He bites down on his lip, studying me in a way that makes me uncomfortable. Zacky's had a crush on me for as long as I can remember and, no matter how blatant I can make it that I'm not interested, he just doesn't seem to get the point.

I let out an awkward laugh and rack my brain for ideas on how to get out of this situation, this house, and this deal with Gerard. I could just leave. Gerard is obviously preoccupied with Bert, who is laying shirtless on the counter against the far wall. Gerard dumps a jello shot into the other man's naval, leaning down with a devious grin to obtain the alcohol with his mouth. Alright, they look like they're enjoying themselves. Gerard won't even realize if I leave.

"I'm thirsty," I decide, nodding at Zacky. I hate the way he reminds me of a dog, his wide eyes portraying his eagerness to do anything I ask. "Get me a drink."

Zacky just nods, his smile widening at the thought of getting any alcoholic beverage in me, and as soon as he's turned in the other direction, I bolt from the room.

Of course, trying to hide from Zacky in a house that isn't my own is harder than I'd originally planned. I decide to test the first door I can find, turning the knob and jumping through, hoping like hell that it's the exit. But when fresh air doesn't hit me, I realize I'm just in another room. Cursing under my breath, I feel along the wall for a lightswitch. When my hand meets nothing but smooth plaster and a strange fabric, my panic begins settling in. What feels like leather brushes against my fingertips and I cuss again, moving to the other wall in search of a light. When I finally flip the switch, my assumptions are sadly proven correct; I'm in a closet. And, oddly enough, I'm not alone...

The figure makes me jump at first, not seeing the lanky boy sitting on the floor on the far wall. He watches me with an unreadable expression, his brown eyes squinted against the sudden light. The first thing that crosses my mind is the realization that he's shirtless, his pale chest visible though he's hunched over with his elbows resting on folded knees. The second thought is,  _why the hell is this kid sitting in a closet_?

The boy sighs, looking back down at his lap without a word.

"Umm..." I raise an eyebrow at him curiously, wondering how exactly to approach this situation. I could simply turn and leave, but that would be with the risk of Zacky finding me again. So instead, I sit as well, leaning against the closed door and mimicking the scrawny boy's posture. "I'm kind of curious," I admit, my voice low. It's surprisingly quiet in the small closet, the music from outside muted by the walls. "So I'm just gonna ask-- Why the hell are you just sitting in here? And where is your shirt?"

The boy looks down at his own pale torso before meeting my gaze. His brown eyes are lined with black, the color matching his perfectly drawn eyebrows as they arch at me. "Somebody spilled a drink on me," He explains. His voice is deep, way deeper than I would have figured from him, but it somehow seems suiting. "Some asshole told me I could find a spare shirt in here and, when I came to check, they locked me in."

My first reaction is sympathy for the other kid, but then his words actually register and I jump to my feet. In a flurry of panic, a sudden wave of claustrophobia washes over me, and I twist the doorknob. Jerking both to the left and right, pushing and pulling to no avail, I let the realization hit me.

I'm locked in a closet with a complete stranger in the middle of a house party. Though I know the music is still blasting with life outside these four walls, I find myself pounding both fists on the door, screaming at the top of my lungs.

I hear the other boy scoff softly from his place behind me and whirl around to face him. "How the fuck are you so calm!?" I demand. "We're locked in a closet! How are we supposed to get out!?"

The kid shrugs, looking down carelessly at his painted nails, picking at the chipping black and only glancing at me. "I've been pounding on the door like that for the past forty-five minutes and no one has heard me. Shredding your vocal chords trying to scream for help is useless. We just have to wait until the party dies and someone lets us out."

I stare on incredulously. It sounds so logical in this completely illogical situation, but the thought of staying locked in a fucking  _closet_  for God knows how long is still not calming.

I groan, letting my back hit the door with a muted thud. Sliding down to a sitting position, I keep my knees to my chest. The toes of my Converse still brush those of the boy's feet.

"What's your name?" He wonders, leaning his head back on the wall behind him.

I swallow hard, unsure at first of whether I should actually answer-- This is a complete stranger. I have no idea what he's capable of. But then, I figure, I might as well try and get along, seeing as we're both stuck here for the foreseeable future. "Frank."

"Chris." The kid stretches an arm out, offering me his slender hand to shake. I do so hesitantly, keeping my eyes on his amused smirk.

The closet falls into a rather uncomfortable silence and I find myself shifting awkwardly. Chris chuckles. "You have to pee already?"

I immediately freeze. Of course I hadn't thought about the bathroom situation. What if I have to pee while I'm locked in here? Sure, I'm stuck in here during a party, but I don't think urinating in someone's boots is going to go over well with the house's inhabitants.

Chris notices my slight terror and laughs again. "I found a bottle in someone's pocket," He offers, casting a wink in my direction. "And don't worry-- I'll turn away."

I feel my cheeks flush pink and let out an angry huff of breath. "I don't have to pee."

A few more minutes pass in utter silence, the only sound coming from the still blaring music reverberating mutely through the small room. Chris' fingers tap on the knee of his torn black jeans, a rhythm that doesn't seem to match that outside. The black that coats his short nails seems to crack near the tips, but I notice something else, too. The very tips of his fingers are cut open, fresh scabs and hardened skin attracting my attention in a familiar way. I smirk across the small space at him.

"Guitar or bass?" I ask.

Chris looks up, seeming surprised that I've actually spoken to him. He notices the way I glance at his hand and looks down, smiling as well. "Guitar."

My own grin widens and I raise my own palm so he can see. "Me too." I scoot a little closer, hesitantly taking his hand in both of mine. It's a lot bigger than mine, his fingers long and thin while my own are short and blunt. I run a finger across the tips of his, feeling the smooth flesh that's been tainted with the effects of learning to play guitar. "Electric?" I ask. Glancing up at Chris again, I see him just nod. "You should start out with something easier," I suggest. "Acoustic strings are softer. You can build up callus and it won't cut so bad when you play."

I look back up at the other boy, realizing he's already watching me. His brown eyes, soft and intent, are focused on my own hazel ones, flickering back and forth between the left and right. He's really close. When did he get so close? Oh wait, I'm the one that scooted across the floor. Right...

His tongue snakes out, swiping across his bottom lip. The piercings there move with the motion and I find myself mesmerized by the action.

"You're looking at my lips," Chris states, but I don't shift my gaze at all, watching the way his mouth forms each word, slow and deliberate. They stay parted even after he's spoken, drawing me even closer.

"Yes, I am." I agree. "And I think I want to kiss them."

Chris leans in slightly, his lips so fucking close to mine, though they don't touch. He breathes out, letting the warm air hit me and sending chills down my spine. "Then do it."

So I do. I close the small distance between us, pressing myself closer while I pull him in. His hand wraps around my own, fingers lacing together. His rough, callused fingertips brush over my knuckles in a way that makes me crave more. More of his touch, his taste, his hands, fucking  _him_.

I don't hesitate to deepen the kiss, groaning in an animalistic way as pure instinct takes over. Suddenly, the fact that I'm locked in a closet doesn't seem to prudent. All that seems to matter is the instant spark that ignites within me, the undeniable attraction building up and taking over as I push him back against the wall. It's like an out-of-body experience, someone else making me move and I watch helplessly. On my knees, I shift so I'm straddling his lap. My chest flattens against his, one hand clasped with his while the other tangles in his soft black hair. His own rests on my hip, blunt nails digging into the skin just above my belt.

It surprises me when I feel his tongue against my lip, teeth tugging on the ring there. I moan, taking the muscle into my mouth and massaging it with my own. I savor the taste of his tongue, our saliva mingling to create one electrifying flavor and I swallow as much as I can get.

There's a minute section of my brain, the rational side, that's saying  _'whoa, this escalated quickly. Perhaps we should calm down a bit.'_  But a larger, much louder section was bursting with the intense fire that was building between us. It could have been played off as the lack of air in the cramped space of the room, decreasing quickly with the panting breaths coming from both myself and the boy beneath me, but in all reality, it was so much more. I wasn't thinking correctly right now. My mind, blurred with the lustful haze that surrounded me with his touch, was racing, spinning, screaming and I was letting my body take control. And  _fuck_... My body liked this.

Somehow, through the ache in my chest, my heart pounding hard and my lungs begging for a break, and the growing tightness in my jeans, I manage to pull my mouth away from Chris'. It feels strange, his name falling from my swollen lips, but it does so in the form of a soft moan. My original intention for breaking the kiss was to think straight and the way his mouth moved against mine was making that hard to do. But when his lips instantly attach to my neck, my train of thoughts crashes and catches fire. I moan again, letting my head fall back, exposing more supple flesh for him. He lets out a low hum, a sort of growl deep in the back of his throat. Teeth nick at the skin near my collar bone, trailing up to the imprint just below my ear. Warm, alluring breaths tickle the skin on my neck as Chris' husky voice settles over me. "Fuck, this is not what I imagined would happen when I got locked in here."

I let out a small laugh, his words bringing me back to reality in a lusty, dense haze. It's as if I'm remembering all at once that, yes I am locked in a closet with a boy who's name I didn't even know thirty minutes ago. Not only that, but I am now straddling said boy's waist with an undeniable excitement arising in my lower region. I lean back to catch Chris' soft brown gaze, glazed over with desire and yet somehow seeming cautious at the same time.

He swallows once, controlling his breathing, before his eyes flash to my lips once more. His tongue darts out, running across his piercings again and distracting me from any rational thoughts. Before I can think twice, I'm diving back in for another kiss.

Chris accepts gladly, offering another low moan and lifting his hips upward into mine. The intense friction sends a wave of heat through me and I find myself grinding down against him. I crave a closeness to him and making out just doesn't seem like enough anymore.

"Fuck, Chris." I untangle my hand from his hair, trailing it down his bare chest, feeling his skin as it burns against mine. When my fingertips brush the cold metal of his belt buckle, I shiver. I break the kiss again, resting my forehead against his and searching his eyes. He replies to the silent question with a nod, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. I grin and begin pulling at the white belt, not able to remove it fast enough. I want him  _now_.

With the belt unhooked, I start tugging the pants down his slim figure. I get them halfway down his thighs before I allow myself to lean back and simply admire him. My eyes skim over his slender, pale body, exposed and erect and laid out before me. I reattach my lips to his, slipping a hand between us to wrap around his hard member. I have the chance to stroke down the length only twice before Chris' hands flatten on my chest, pushing me away. With the gesture, my head clears immediately and I release him. But Chris isn't telling me to stop. Instead, he's leaning back into me, pushing me backward. I follow the movements and end up lying with my back against the carpeted floor. Gerard's jacket falls loosely around me. Oh, I forgot to give that back. But the thought is cut short when Chris climbs on top of me, sitting atop my waist and attaching his lips to mine again. I'm vaguely aware of his hand, roaming over my body, tugging my shirt up and out of the way so he can touch skin.

His palm traces over the bulge in my jeans, teasing and slow. His lips, trailing back to my ear, leave feather-soft kisses in their path. "Mmm Frankie," He hums, amusement in his deep voice. "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

My hips involuntarily jerk up and I actually do feel something uncomfortable pressing into my side. I twist away from it. "Oww, what the hell is that?" I reach down to find the culprit, my hand searching Gerard's coat pocket before returning with a tube of something. I hold it up, letting the light reflect off the dull white bottle.

Chris smirks down at me. "Is that lube?"

I don't even want to think about why Gerard has that in his pocket. Instead, I focus on the fact that I have it now. "Well," I grin. "Isn't that lucky?"

"You wouldn't happen to have a condom in there, too, would you?" Chris wonders. His hands are already working at the button of my jeans. I go back to searching the pockets again, coming up with nothing but a crushed pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and some lint.

I sigh, letting my head fall back onto the ground and groaning. Chris chuckles, unfazed by the minor setback, and leans across the small space to retrieve his discarded jeans. Inside the wallet he tugs from the back pocket is a small square packet. He holds it up for me to see and bites his lip. "Shall we continue?"

Without answer, I take the condom from his hand. Chris continues further, hands roaming everything as he removes my own jeans. It's only when he holds a hand out for the condom again that I hesitate. Chris watches me with a confused eyes, his forehead creasing and his breathing uneven. "What's wrong?"

I roll my eyes and, using my teeth, rip the foil package open. "No way in hell am I letting you top me."

Chris looks taken back for a moment, completely shocked, before he shakes his head. "No fucking way. "

I grin, leaning up to kiss him again. As I do so, I slip one hand lower to stroke him again. "Are you sure, Chris?" I ask in a husky voice, seduction lacing my words like poison. "I want you to fucking ride me."

"Oh shit..." Chris' strong facade falters and he's putty in my hands. With half-lidded and lust filled eyes, he nods. He fumbles for the condom between my fingers, taking it from my grasp and trailing his hands down my body. Sliding it down over my erection, Chris continues thrusting into my hand. And then he takes the lube.

Coating two fingers in the off-white translucent substance, he reaches behind himself. I can't see everything from this angle, as he hunches over me, but the look on his face is enough. I can tell when he inserts the second finger, his mouth falling open and his eyes closing. He rocks and back and forth in my grasp, fucking my hand and fingering himself. Pre-cum beads at the tip of his dick and I run my thumb across it, eliciting a low moan. The simple sound has me releasing one of my own and I realize I'm begging for more.

"Please, Chris..." I whimper. I need the contact, the heat, I need  _everything_. "Fuck, just... Just please." I'm not making any sense, not able to form full sentences with the pleasure and desire clouding my mind. Chris seems to understand, though, and I feel his hand on my erect member again, this time coating the condom in the same slick lubricant.

I watch, mesmerized, as Chris hovers above me. His legs are wide open, giving me a full view of everything as he begins sliding down onto me. As the tip of my dick presses against his entrance, overpowering pleasure falls over me in waves. Slipping slowly into him, I close my eyes, not able to take both the sight and the feeling. It's too much.

It takes an agonizingly long time before he takes all of me, perched motionless on my lap, and then he starts moving. His movements are slow at first, in time with the strokes of my hand against him. Gradually, the pace quickens.

As Chris raises and lowers himself on my body, I can't help but watch the way his slender frame twists. Pale skin stretches smoothly across his torso, muscle visible beneath that as he continues the rhythm. His head is back, eyes closed and mouth open, lips forming near silent moans. I can tell when he's getting close because he lowers his mouth back to mine, clumsy and breathy. "Fuck, Frank..." He whimpers. With one last jerk of my hand, he's pushed over the edge. The orgasm rocks his body, cum lacing through my fingers like silk and coating my chest with the sticky liquid. With the release, his body reflexively tightens around my length and urges me to climax as well. Chris' name falls heavily from my tongue, my mind going white with nothing more than the overwhelming ecstasy.

After a moment, I pull out of Chris, wincing slightly at how sensitive I feel suddenly. Tying the condom, I glance around the room and realize one again that we're still in a closet. Chris, noticing my dilemma, chuckles and takes the used rubber from my hand, stuffing it into a random coat pocket. When he turns back to face me, he's smiling wide. Pink tinges his cheeks and his bright eyes are clear again.

Biting down on my lip, I lean in to kiss him quickly. "Well that was fun," I say, at a loss for any other words.

Chris simply nods. "Yeah. I didn't expect tonight to turn out quite this way. Maybe we could do it again sometime."

I smirk in agreement. "But maybe next time, somewhere other than a closet."

•••

My head feels fuzzy, clogged and dazed. Ugh, I feel hungover. I groan, rubbing a hand across my eyes and sitting up slowly. Glancing around, I take in my surroundings. My back aches and I roll my shoulders.

The ground shifts beneath me and I have a sudden wave of nausea. I groan, putting a hand to my forehead. Looking down, I realize with surprise that the ground was not moving. Chris was. Chris, the strange boy I met and fucked in a closet last night. I also seem to have used him a pillow.

He blinks sleepily a few times before his eyes focus on me and he smiles. "What time is it?" He wonders.

I stretch a little and rub a hand on the back of my neck, using the other to dig around in my pocket for my cell phone. "Ten-thirty."

Chris groans, pushing himself up off the floor, and stands up. Only when he's on his feet do I realize just how tall he is.

The phone in my hand begins vibrating, Gerard's name appearing on the small screen. I answer it quickly.

"Where are you?" He wonders.

I stand up next to Chris and lean against the wall. "In a closet."

"Frank," Gerard sighs irritably. "You came out of the closet years ago. Seriously, if you went home just tell me. It's cool."

"No!" I shake my head frantically and begin pounding a fist on the door. "I'm literally in a fucking closet. It's been locked all night. Are you still at the party? Can you let me out?"

"Ummm... Yeah." Gerard is silent for a few moments before the door before me swings open and I'm met with his face instead. His black hair is tangled, dark marks under both bloodshot eyes. He glares at me before turning his back and storming out of the house.

I turn to Chris, smiling coyly. "Well..." I say awkwardly. I'm not really sure how to act now that the door has been opened. So I settle with kissing him once more and saying, "Call me?"

Chris smirks, nodding, before I race out of the house to catch up with Gerard. He's already halfway down the sidewalk when I fall in step beside him. He glances over at me, narrowing his eyes. "Fuck, that's where I left my jacket." I look down at myself, remembering that I'm wearing it.

"Oh yeah," I start to pull the jacket off. "You want it back?"

Gerard just shakes his head. "No, it's cool. I needed it last night, though."

Oh fuck... Gerard was with Bert last night. It makes sense now why there was lubricant in his pocket. And if he left it with me, then that means...

He winces slightly, grimacing. "Anyway, what happened last night?" He wonders, changing the subject.

I try my best to hide the smile that fights it's way forward and shrug nonchalantly. "I was hiding from Zacky," I admit. "Ended up getting locked in a closet with Chris. Nothing much happened, just... talked."  _And moaned and kissed_...

Gerard nods silently and I allow myself to grin. Grabbing onto his arm, I drag him faster down the sidewalk. "Come on, slow poke," I say. "I went to the party with you. I kept up my end of the deal. Now, if I recall correctly, you have a costume to make me." He groans tiredly and trudges along beside me.

I would never admit it to Gerard, nor to anyone else, but going to that party was the the best thing that happened to me. I didn't imagine a house party to turn out quite the way it did, but I guess that just goes to show-- Nobody really knows what can happen behind closed doors.

-Le end.

:)


End file.
